


Unity

by notavodkashot



Series: Old Archive [8]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Aizen’s betrayal, the Captains are encouraged to forge closer bonds with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unity

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally written in 2011]

As the dust began to settle, after the Ryoka incident and Aizen’s betrayal, it had been Kyōraku-taichou who’d suggested the idea. The hall where the weekly Captains meetings were held was silent for a moment, as everyone but Ukitake-taichou and Zaraki-taichou stared at him as if he’d gone mad. They were discussing the still formless plan to rebuild the extensive damage wrought on Seiretei by the Ryoka, and a plan to try and wage war on Aizen’s mad crusade. In no way, most eyes in the room seemed to agree, was there time to _socialize_ and go out drinking with each other. It was an irresponsible, ridiculous suggestion. Which was why everyone stared when Yamamoto-soutaichou had decided to indulge Kyōraku-taichou, seemingly oblivious to the horrified stares half his Captains were giving him. Thus, Captain drinking nights were established, to be honored on the pain of Yamamoto-soutaichou’s wrath, every Wednesday after dusk.  
  
Kuchiki Byakuya, model Captain and noble, attended the meetings without a care to their location - a establishment he had the sinking feeling was a high class brothel - as he would any other duty of his. He drank perhaps two cups a night, replied quietly when spoken to, and spent most of the time composing the paperwork he could be writing, were he allowed to go home, while everyone around him, even Soi-Fon-taichou and Kurotsuchi-taichou, got drunk and talked and argued and laughed and acted as if they knew each other better than they really did. But perhaps out of sheer stubbornness, perhaps to make up for his lack of, as Kyōraku-taichou put it, _cheer_ , Kuchiki Byakuya was always the last man to leave the establishment, when the sky was well on its way to pink, dawn approaching. Or well, one of the last ones, Zaraki Kenpachi being the other one capable of withstanding the long nights, despite the fact he drank enough to match Kyōraku-taichou cup for cup.  
  
In short, Byakuya decided, this was most certainly Kyōraku-taichou’s fault. Because after a few weeks of sitting alone on one side of the room, while Zaraki-taichou sprawled on the floor on the other side, drinking and drinking to his heart content, Byakuya found himself invariably talking with him. Or well, arguing and drinking more than the usual two cups. Which naturally had somehow ended up with his clothes in disarray, his skin flushed, and Zaraki fucking Kenpachi fucking him rough and hard into the floor.  
  
“You flush prettily, Kuchiki-hime,” the bastard whispered against his throat, and Byakuya threw his hips up against him on reflex. It had the desired effect of _shutting up_ the bastard, but it also had the unforeseen consequence of making Byakuya gasp and moan as he did. “So, so pretty, Hime.”  
  
Byakuya really, _really_ hated the petname. He’d told Zaraki-taichou the first sixteen times he’d used it. The seventeenth time, he trailed off when Zaraki’s hand found its way inside his clothes, and then Byakuya was too busy to continue protesting. But he hated the petname. He hated it whispered against the nape of his neck. He hated it bitten into the skin over his ribs. He hated it licked along the length of his arousal.  
  
And yet still, every week without fail, Kuchiki Byakuya showed up at the Captains drinking night. And every week, without fail, when the others left, Byakuya and Zaraki drank and argued and fucked. And every week, without fail, Kuchiki Byakuya walked home in the dim light of pre-dawn, body aching underneath his clothes, and blamed Kyōraku-taichou for the mess his life had become.  
  
Zaraki Kenpachi, for all his faults, was blamed for nothing.


End file.
